Everything Has Its Time
by Laughing-Rabbit96
Summary: So we know Sherlock's not dead, but the question roaming everyone's mind is how. Well... Why don't you find out? (BBC Sherlock X Doctor Who in what I refer to as the mix of Season 3's first episode and the 50th Anniversary Special. Just... go with it and don't hurt my headcannon please. I'LL UPDATE WHEN I CAN)
1. Chapter 1- A Glimpse

"Nobody could be that clever," a shaking voice whispered.

"You could." John Watson watched the dark figure wavering up on the building, his mobile phone slipping in his sweaty grip.

"Goodbye, John..." the deep voice crackled through the receiver.

_I apologize for all the pain I have caused you._

"S... SHERLOCK!"

* * *

_My dear Watson, you once asked me if I had told you everything there was to know about my life. While I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it…_

* * *

Three years passed. For three agonizingly long years he watched, studying every move made by the man he had torn to pieces, Doctor John Watson. The poor man couldn't seem to emotionally overcome his death. It consumed his every thought, devouring him up from the inside.

His therapist said it was a normal reaction. His friends tried to cheer him up with pity-filled gifts, while others didn't blink an eyelash at the hollow man. He holed himself up in his apartment, alone, until something nudged him out. Could have been the hunger for solving crimes. Maybe he missed dating overly-sweet young ladies. It didn't help that after a few months Mrs. Hudson shooed him out to go get a job.

John did make it a point to get out of the house every day, however. At least once was all it took in the beginning. He'd grab his coat, nod a solemn goodbye on his way out the door, and headed to spend a while talking to a cold slab of stone. The cemetery was peaceful, and not many people stopped by on dreary days. Too bone-chilling.

Watching the dissipating stream of mist his breath created with tired eyes, John sniffed with his mouth in a hard line, getting to his feet and brushing off the seat of his pants. Swiftly turning on his heel, he walked off, closing the squeaky gate behind him.

_Today's conversation shook him worse than most times..._ a voice thought, eyes tracking the hobbling man. _Why would tha- OH, stupid, stupid! It's the third anniversary of my death..._

With a sigh, Sherlock snuck his way back to the flat, making sure to hide his face as usual. Oh, disguises were a wonderful thing. He arrived in the alley behind the flat right as John flicked on the light two floors up, but then flicked it off.

_He's going to rest. Good. He needs it..._

Waiting twenty minutes or so to be sure, Sherlock hurried around, feeling around the brick wall for the precise spot about seven and a half feet up where a key sat, sticking halfway out from the groove between two bricks. It looked a bit more realistic than a key seeming to float in midair anyway.

With a quiet grunt, he leaped upwards, his slender fingers tipping the key from its spot. It toppled down to the wet ground with a tink, letting Sherlock grab it, only to look around cautiously before disappearing, as if he had entered some sort of invisible box.

_One more day, that's it. That's all I said I'd wait and I simply can't wait any longer._

* * *

"Are you sure you're alright enough to go through with this, John?" a woman asked, eyebrows synched worriedly on her forehead, her eyes searching his.

"Yes, I'm _fine_," he sighed with a small smile, probably because this question had been asked only about thirty-two times in the past week. "Look, love. I promised you I wouldn't back out, and I'm a man of my word."

Her lipstick-covered lips shimmered as she smiled warmly at him, lightly brushing the side of his face. "I know."

"Oi! What are you two doin' in 'ere?!" Lestrade suddenly called down the hallway, stomping up to them. "Bride an' groom aren't s'posed to see each other on their wedding day! 'S bad luck!"

"Yeah, yeah..." The woman in white rolled her eyes, playfully fixing John's bow tie before skipping off.

The two men stood quietly in the hallway for a moment, the sound of heels click-clacking soon fading to the point where they could no longer hear it. When that point came, Lestrade gave John a curious look and asked, "So you're _sure_ you're ready for this?"

John inhaled deeply before turning to his best man and nodding curtly, just once.

Lestrade shrugged and gave him a pat on the shoulder before exiting the scene to leave John to his own thoughts. He stood rigidly for a moment, eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed, his thoughts paining him. A moment later, he gathered his wits about him and shook his head, stiffly making his way down the corridor before rounding the corner into the reception area.

A curly-haired head peeked out from behind a door, sighing wearily as the heavy footsteps faded.

In the reception hall, the small gathering of people were just about finished filing into the rose petal-strewn room, chittering happily at the decorations and finding their way to a seat. I must say that the church, despite the middle-to-low budget, was most definitely a sight for sore eyes. Various white flowers were simply _every_where, providing a wonderful contrast with the dark oak. Roses, irises, baby's breath, and orchids all bundled together in vases and intertwined with ivy that draped like a veil of hope throughout the room. A organist sat in the far corner by the stained glass windows that shone color into the scene. It seemed the London overcast was gracious enough to let the sun shine through to meet the warm hearts gathered at this merry occasion.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." the priest began, reading from a book.

John was standing with a tight smile stretched across his face, the woman in white stepping up to meet him just as Sherlock slipped unnoticed through the door and slunk down the wall towards the couple. A light, straight-haired wig was brushed back, giving him side-sweeping bangs that fell beneath a pair of slim glasses. He had managed to blend in well dressed in a snappy black tuxedo that matched those the best men were clad in. Merely seconds before a young boy could look curiously over at his shenanigans, he hid inside a wide curtain, another perfect idea forming in his mind.

"... as long as you both shall live..."

_There's not much time...!_ Sherlock thought, his heart racing. Stealing a glance at John's face before sliding from another curtain into the next, he slowly made his way to the front like James Bond without the explosions and scantily-clad women. The dark-haired man crept up next to the best man closest to the action, Lestrade, and stood next to him for a split second, brushing a spec of dirt from his sleeve.

"And do you, John Hamish Watson, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded bride as long as you both shall live?"

John stared at his wife-to-be with a wide grin, his eyes going wide for a split second at the presence of person only feet from him.

_It can't be..._

"Mr. Watson?" the minister repeated, looking over his rimmed glasses at the groom. Someone in the audience coughed.

When he didn't respond, Miss Bride-to-be tapped him on the arm and whispered, "John, love, are you alright?"

He snapped out of his momentary trance, the figure somehow there one second, gone the next. "Yes, yes sorry. Where... Where were we?"

With a concerned expression, the minister answered, "Your vows...?"

"OH!" _God _damn_ it, what is wrong with me today?! I must be seeing things..._ John smiled unconvincingly at the woman before him, took her hands in his, and began to slip the ring onto her dainty finger. "I d-"

"Oh no you don't."


	2. Chapter 2- the Chase

_"Oh no you don't."_

Little had anyone known that the tall shadow of a man had snuck behind the ceremony and up behind John, crouching until the right time. With a small cloth folded into the shape of a square in one hand, he laughed a deep, slightly demonic laugh and took John's shoulder, pressing the cloth up to his nose and holding it there. John struggled against Sherlock's tight grasp for all that he could, soon losing consciousness and relaxing limply into his arms, the ring falling out of his hand and clattering to the floor.

When the audience gasped and made to get up and attack him, Sherlock merely kept his face aimed at the ground and made a nearly indiscernible "shh..." before dragging the drugged army doctor groom-no-more out of the large room.

"You're heavier than you look, John..." the blue-eyed man grumbled, flinging him onto his back with a grunt. Off he took (to the best of his abilities), chuckling at the yells and footsteps that would never reach more than forty feet away from them. Even with John's extra weight, they were no match.

He raced out the chapel door, nearly slamming an elderly lady in the face in doing so.

"Oi! Watch where you're going, boy! I've got a wedding to attend!" she yelled with an umbrella clenched in her grasp, her poor balance causing her to wobble a bit. Sherlock skidded to a halt, took her elbow to steady her, and took off again, earning himself an open mouth of confusion.

_Not anymore...!_

His shoes clumped along on the sidewalk as he headed back towards the flat, knowing it was the first place anyone would look for John, especially if the police were to get involved. Which they inevitably would.

Feeling John's belt buckle painfully sliding down his back and shooting a sting of pain up his spine, the dark-haired man heaved the blonde back up, making John's arms dangle to and fro in front of his chest, his bum sitting comfortably on Sherlock's tailbone. Breathing heavily, he grinned at John's lolling head and lax expression. "You gained weight, John."

Within an hour they were back in the flat, with the rest of the building empty, most likely thanks to the unusually nice weather. John was placed gently on the sofa to rest until Sherlock could figure out the best way to get them down to the back alley unseen and unheard. Sure, he was used to far, far more dangerous situations, but there were variables here he simply couldn't control. Any person could just walk by and spot them, clear as day.

Squeezing his eyes in frustration, Sherlock paced around the room, occasionally glancing over at John to make sure he was still asleep. He was going to have to take the risk.

"Come on, John. Time to go, then..." he muttered, popping his collar and walking back over to his friend who was lightly snoring. Taking him by the arm, he heaved him once more onto his back and slipped back out into the streets.

With one foot reaching for the sidewalk, Sherlock's keen eyes spotted a police car not a mile away.

He stepped back inside.

"Really now, Lestrade..." he mumbled, knowing there was only one other way to avoid him and get out of the flat at the same time. His long legs strode through the flat, easily opening the window by the sofa with one hand. With John still knocked out on his back, he looked out and down, judging the distance as best he could. This could either go pretty well or absolutely terrible.

_It's a good thing this flat's only on the second floor..._

Bringing the sleeping doctor around to his front, Sherlock took his friend's forearms with a firm grip and gently pushed his limp legs out into the warm air, allowing them to bump up against the brick wall.

Suddenly, a strangely loud "WEEEEWOOOO" of a siren sounded just a block away, most definitely headed to 221B Baker St.

"You've gotten quicker, Lestrade," Sherlock chuckled as he bent over, lowering John into the alley with trembling arms. With a trickle of sweat trailing down his face and a strained exhale left his nose, he nearly had John's feet resting on the spot needed to let his arms go when a miniscule movement by where the alley met the sidewalk caught his eye.

A child was standing, just watching the two grown men complete their circus act. She cocked her head at them, curiously taking a few steps closer to look up, meeting Sherlock's wide-eyed gaze, and wondering, "Wha' are you doin', Mister?"

Mind racing and arms losing their strength more rapidly than he had initially thought, Sherlock could only let his mouth sit open in an "uh" shape for a moment.

"Is it a magic trick?" she asked with an excited smile.

Eyes snapping wide open, he smiled down at her and nodded furiously. "Y-Yes! A magic trick! Now..." He was breathing a bit raspily because of how he was leaning out the window, his ribs pressed up against the hard plastic frame. The sound of the sirens couldn't get any louder, it seemed, seeing as they had stopped outside the front door, no doubt going to barge in through the door and brush Mrs. Hudson aside to get upstairs any second now.

"Keep back or you'll ruin it!" he warned half-jokingly, inhaling deeply and sliding inch by inch out the window and closer to the ground, his blonde wig and glasses slowly slipping off of his head and gracefully falling to the street below. Keeping his attention split between John and the girl, Sherlock failed to hear the clumping of multiple pairs of feet pounding up the stairs.

With the force and volume of a gunshot, the door was kicked open. Sherlock gasped as his body betrayed him and slid all the way out the window merely milliseconds before any adult eyes could spot them.

"Search the premises!" a loud voice yelled from the doorway, the sound of bustling bodies becoming nearer.

Sherlock and John landed one on top of the other in a crumpled heap with a muffled thunk, pain searing through their bodies yet still not waking John. The girl's eyes bulged as she gasped, pointing one finger at them. "You're... _floating_!"

Ignoring the stinging pain, Sherlock sat up and put a finger to his lips, glancing up at the window with the curtains billowing into the alley.

_"Oh!"_ she whispered, giggling and holding her hands over her mouth.

The dark-haired man rolled John and himself over the edge of the thing holding them up, the sounds of the police searching the flat becoming more frantic. The two landed somewhat gracefully on the dirty street, hidden from the girl's view until they moved into the middle of the alleyway.

When the girl smiled and began to clap, he took a quick bow with a small smirk on his face. With his finger pressed to his lips, Sherlock raised his brows at her and waved once, opening thin air and disappearing moments before Lestrade poked his head out of the window, jaw firmly set and pounding his fist on the windowsill.


	3. Chapter 3- Waking Up

**A/N sorry this chapter's kinda short... school's out soon so the chapters should get longer then OTL**

* * *

John's head was throbbing, a headache pounding its way through his brain, telling him, "TIME TO WAKE UP, MATE!" His eyes fluttered open, the images swirling around for a minute or two at first.

_What's... what's going on? I don't recogniz- aghhh, my head..._

Narrowing his eyes, John groggily looked around him, the room unlike anything he'd ever seen. A quiet rumbling sort of noise seemed to generate from a blue-ish glass column in the center of the room, with a circular control panel surrounding it. All those buttons and levers and switches... It boggled his mind.

With furrowed brows and a slightly agape mouth, he stared around him. It most definitely an interesting place. Warm, too. Looking down at his legs he found that he was resting on a metal grated floor with wires and an orange light glowing from below and shining up the plated walls. There were stairs over to one side that went up to who knows what and then a doorway behind him if he stretched his neck far enough. A few pillars that looked like they had melted because of their strange shape sat evenly spaced out, rising up into the ceiling.

"Ah, you're up."

John's head swiveled around, his heart almost stopping.

_No..._

Sherlock was perched at the top of the staircase with his legs hanging over the edge, swinging restlessly. He had changed out of the disguise and into more comfortable clothes- a button-up shirt and simple black trousers. With a brief smile, he noted, "You slept longer than I expected. Feeling alright? Nauseated?"

John shut his eyes for a second, blinking away the muddled flood of thoughts that attacked his brain at the sight of Sherlock. "No... I'm..."

"Good, then. Hungry?" Sherlock rose from his seat, sliding down the staircase railing with ease and plopping gracefully onto the floor with a light clack. As John continued to stare up at him with a half-frazzled and half-confused expression on his face with his mouth just barely hanging open, the dark-haired man pulled out a granola bar from his pocket and tossed it down.

When the bar landed in John's lap, he seemed to snap out of his trance by shaking his head and blinking a few times, taking the bar and going to get up. Sherlock extended a hand, which John accepted, and the two were left standing and watching each other.

"You..." the blonde started, taking the rail for balance, his head and mind both racing.

"_Oh_, I know you must have so many questions!" Sherlock remembered, clapping his hands together. "And I'm sure you want me to explain everything, correct?" He scanned John's weary face carefully.

With his eyes focused on the ground, John took a breath and glanced up at his ex-dead friend. He fixed his posture, straightening his back and keeping his eyes locked with Sherlock's. "Yes, you're right. But before that," he muttered tensely, gulping, "I want you to explain _this_!"

With a swift hook to the cheek, Sherlock was down on the floor, his head spinning and the spot where John's fist had made contact stinging. He held a hand to it, his brows furrowing. Of course he could understand John's reason for anger, but... Ow.

"That's what you deserve, Sherlock Holmes! You DIED, Sherlock! I _watched_ you die! Do you understand the hell you put me through?!" John bellowed, standing above Sherlock with the knuckles on his fists turning a ghostly white.

"John, I-"

His chin trembling, John thrashed his hands about, cutting him off. "No, you couldn't understand! I don't think you ever could!"

"Then TRY ME!" Sherlock yelled back with the slightest bit of pleading in his voice, ignoring the pain in his face to stand up again and hold his arms out like a broadway performer. "Help me to try and see it from your view, John!"

"It's not possible...!" With gritted teeth and a snarl, John launched himself at the other man and tackled him to the floor, the loud crash landing echoing inside the large room. The two were equally matched for a bit in this fight, what with John's military experience and Sherlock's... self-defense. They weren't even shouting at this point, just wrestling and taking out all the pain that had built up for three years on the other. Sherlock would probably end up with more bruises.

They knew each other's weak spots and, with one final chop to John's knee, Sherlock had the army doctor collapsed on the floor, his mouth in a straight line and his nostrils flared from breathing so hard.

"Sherlock..." he whispered, his chest heaving, "Just tell me _why_, alright? That's the one thing I have to hear right now or I think I might pop a blood vessel or something."

With a sigh, Sherlock took a seat next to John and muttered, "You wouldn't understand my reasons... They won't make sense and you won't believe me."

John made a confused face. "What? Of course I'll believe you. Well..." Thinking back on it, Sherlock had managed to fake his death and John had believed _that_... So what could he believe now? He sighed, rested his head in his hands and settled for a compromise. "Can you at least tell me where we are? Last time I was up and about, I was getting married in London." He glanced up around the room. "I've never seen a place like this before."

"No, I'm sure you haven't John," Sherlock agreed, following his gaze calmly. "This is... well, I like to call it the TARDIS."


	4. Chapter 4- the Landing

"Tardis...?" John questioned uncertainly, raising one brow.

With a nod of his head, Sherlock continued. "Yes, 'tardis.' It stands for Time And Relative Dimension(s) In Space. T-A-R-D-I-S, tardis."

"Well what the bloody hell does that mean?"

"You'd probably call it a time machine or something..." Sherlock said flatly, as if the name had been repeated to him so many times it left a nasty aftertaste anytime he had to say it himself.

"A time machine?"

"Oh, but John, it's so much _more_!" Sherlock rebutted, his bright eyes going wide as he took his friend by the shoulders, spinning him around and holding him still. Pointing with one hand, Sherlock began rattling off at high speed, "I know it's hard to grasp, but in easy-to-understand terms the TARDIS travels through both time and space simultaneously. I can go back to Neptune seventy three years and three days ago from this point if I so choose. Or other planets I'm sure you've never heard of. Planets in other galaxies and other solar systems."

"But I thought you said you never learned about the solar system!" John butted in.

"Come now, John- Do you really think I could explain everything I knew about time and space in a few sentences?"

When the shorter man didn't respond but with a sigh, Sherlock glanced around at anything he could show off and briefly explain. "This lever here," he pointed to a red one, "is the final step to starting her up!"

"So how exactly... how..." John stuttered, eyes focused on the red lever but paying it no mind. "How does it work? Wouldn't this mess something up?"

"What do you mean?"

"Mm... If you were to save someone's life that had died, couldn't that affect the future?"

Sherlock chuckled dryly, removing his grasp and nodding slowly. "Obviously, John. But a smart deduction nonetheless." He took a few steps, continuing with, "There have been times when I've tried to meddle with the laws of the universe..." he trailed off, eyes and memory becoming distant, faces swirling around in the fog of his mind. "Though I don't exactly believe in fate and that things are how they will always be, I will not hesitate to make the best of history that history can manage to make. It's tricky business, John..."

John scratched the back of his neck with an exasperated expression. "I just... Can I get some air? I'm finding it a little hard to breathe..."

Sherlock let his head fall slightly to the side, raising his brows and mumbling, "I wouldn't advise doing that just yet, John."

"And why not?"

Sherlock averted his eyes and quietly admitted, "Just... Be careful and don't wander off. I'm not quite sure where we are."

The army doctor shook his head and went for the double doors, swinging them inward despite the note saying "push." A gust of chilly night air whooshed in, freezing John mid-step over the threshold with his hand curled around the handle.

Slowly, as if if was truly frozen into a John-sicle, he turned his head to the side and whispered, "Sher... lock...?"

The dark-haired man strode towards the exit, brows furrowing slightly until he too could see outside. "Ah," he concluded somewhat calmly, "Seems we're in Poland."

An eerie whistling crescendoed off in the distance, followed by a faint rumbling explosion, the bomb lighting up the smoky sky with vibrant yellows, oranges, reds, and whites. Besides the light provided from falling air attacks, neither Sherlock or John could see too far in front of them in the pitch black darkness. Screams echoed as if they were trapped inside a glass bowl, reaching the ears of anyone within a few hundred feet.

"Sherlock... I checked the daily paper this morning and there was nothing about Poland under attack. Where are we?" John inquired.

"Mm, wrong question to ask, John," Sherlock tut-tutted, stone-faced. "I believe you mean _when_ are we, and from there I would promptly answer..." he faded away as he trotted off to the large circuit board in the middle of the TARDIS' main room, stooping over a screen. "1939. We've just seen the start of World War Two. The invasion of Warsaw, I'd assume."

"World W-War..." John tried to say the whole thing, but his breath was becoming rather shallow at this point, his face lighting up now at a large house catching fire in the city.

"Army man like yourself shouldn't be too shocked by this," Sherlock noted, watching the fire bloom into a raging wall of heat and light.

"This isn't nearly the same thing, Sherlock..."

"Isn't it...?"

Both kept quiet for a few moments, their hearts racing, until the buzzing of a plane and a high-pitched squeal broke out from absolutely nowhere and came screaming down. John instinctively ducked, shoving Sherlock's shoulder to have him to the same.

"GET DOWN!"

The bomb flew over the heads of the Englishmen and into the woods behind them, an explosion not far behind. The whole room shook, the sheer volume of the explosion making ears ring.

A man's yell could be heard, and Sherlock's eyes went wide. He flung off John's grip and raced outside into the blackness, squinting and trying to see where the voice had come from. Another, different voice yelled out into the night, this time much closer.

"Help! Help us, please!" the voice suddenly cried, now running up to Sherlock and taking him by the shoulders. "Please, help us! Are you a doctor?!"

John sprinted over, seeing the desperation in the man's eyes. "Yes, I am. What's wrong?"

Sherlock watched John's face carefully before adding, "As am I. What can we do?"

The brows on John's forehead scrunched up, but he made no comment so the man in need could explain his situation, speaking as if his own life depended on it. "My children were sprayed with shrapnel from a bomb just a moment ago and you have... My daughter is only four years old and just barely still alive! Please, tell me you ca-"

A shot was fired a good few feet away, the sound of the bullet hitting the man's chest resurrecting John's war memories. Sherlock attempted to catch the man, his chest now dribbling blood down his front, but missed and ended up latching his arms around John in the midst of the dark and the frenzy of the situation as a whole. The body fell to the ground with a muffled thud, sounds of a group of people running towards them, yelling something indiscernible.

"John, we've got to leave. Right now," Sherlock muttered quickly, aiming John back towards the light emanating from the TARDIS.

"But he could still be alive! We can save him!" John protested, squirming against the tight grip.

"No, it's too late. If we don't hurry we'll end up the same."

"Then what of his children?!"

"They're probably already dead by now!"

"Sherlo-"

"NO! Now _run_!"

The two ran, hearing a final, "HALT!" before slamming the doors behind them. Sherlock skidded over to the control panel and began pushing buttons and pulling levers, the blue column beginning to whir, all the noises combined now deafening. John steadied the doors, one hand on each just in case any of those thugs decided to try and barge in. Another rumble shook the room, wires swinging to and fro from the ceiling as Sherlock shoved one final lever down - the red one - and, before John could turn around, the war noises and whirring of the glowing column simply faded away until the only noises he could hear were his heart pounding in his ears, his short and raspy breaths, and a faint buzzing that came from the mess of wires beneath his feet.

Both stood as they were, held in silence for a few moments, lost in thought with their rush of adrenaline beginning to slow back to a normal level.

"I'm... sorry we couldn't save him, John," Sherlock then mumbled, blinking once and taking a step or two over towards his friend.

John, still staring straight ahead, straightened his back and inhaled deeply. He turned on his heel to face Sherlock, both watching the other's face intently.

He barely parted his lips to utter, "There was no way we could have, I suppose... That's just how war is." With a distant gaze, John whispered, "You can't save anyone."

Goosebumps found their way up the arms of both men despite the warmth the TARDIS generated as silence befell them once more, their thoughts consuming their minds.


End file.
